


if you have internal bleeding, i swear to god

by astrangepurplefairy



Series: the adventures of a wild sprace’s apartment [15]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pasta, Sprace Apartment AU, race is a worried boi, sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangepurplefairy/pseuds/astrangepurplefairy
Summary: spot gets in a fight and comes home to race





	if you have internal bleeding, i swear to god

**Author's Note:**

> hi loves!!  
i honestly love this one i think it’s sweet  
btw this is gonna be a really fucking long series like somewhere around forty parts but i swear they’ll be actually dating really soon so stay with me  
enjoy!!

Race looked up at Spot tumbled into the apartment, his hood up over his eyes and his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Hi, babe.” He greeted with a grin, putting his phone down. Spot said nothing, just leaned against the shut door, head bowing. Race felt his heart drop and he stood, taking a slow step forward. His palms were sweating. “Spottie, what happened?”

He heard Spot inhale, deeply, one of his hands raising to hold his side, and felt his heart sink further. “You can’t be mad at me.” Spot murmured.

“I won’t.”

Spot inhaled, pulled his hood down, glanced up through his dark lashes.

“What the hell, Sean?”

His face was bruised and bleeding, one of his eyes scarlet from a burst vessel, dark hair matted with dirt and blood.

Spot sighed. “You said you wouldn’t get upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Race fumes, his eyebrows furrowing.

A wry, pained smile. “You sound upset.”

“What happened?”

“These two guys were harassing this girl outside a bar. She was kicking and screaming—she was scared. And they were going to hurt her.” Spot looked up again. “You would’ve done the same.”

He’s right, and Race hates that.

He exhales and takes Spot’s bruised hand, pulling him gently towards the bathroom. “How bad is your torso?”

Spot’s hand tightens on his. “Worse than my face.”

He wishes he could fume, be angry at Spot, act pissy, but Race himself had gotten into worse scrapes for dumber reasons. So he just stomps into the bathroom, smiling slightly as Spot hops up onto the sink and sits with his legs dangling.

Race tugs on the hem of his shirt, lightly. “Take that off.” He says dryly.

Spot cocks a brow. “You won’t even take me to dinner first?”

“Oh, shut up.” Race rolled his eyes, grinning, and turned to their closet to pull out bandages, cotton balls, and rubbing alcohol. When he looks back, Spot is still clothed on the sink, glancing around timidly. “Hey, I said take that off.”

“Um... I can’t. I’m—I’m hurting real bad.”

Every angered cell in his body evanesced and he hurried over to Spot, running his hands softly down his arms. He worked Spot’s shirt over his head, gritting his teeth at the dark splotches covering his skin, and Spot squeezed his forearm.

“Shit, Spot.” Race hissed. “You look horrible.”

Spot smirked, chuckling. “You’re so sweet.” 

Race smacked his shoulder with a wet rag but grinned, gently washing the lather of blood off his face. He looked into Spot’s dark eyes, shaking his head slightly, and brushed his thumb along Spot’s bruised jawline.

“Look what happened to your pretty face.” He mumbled quietly, lower lip jutted out.

Spot smiled a little. “You think my face is pretty?”

Race rolled his eyes and poured rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball. “Do you look in mirrors?”

Spot giggled and kissed Race lightly.

They sit in silence for a long moment as Race cleans and bandages his skin, just looking at each other. Repressed, belated fear wracks through Race’s veins like molasses, slow and advancing in a way that makes his hands shake. His eyes rake over Spot’s bruised, bloodied skin and he inhales, his hands stilling and jaw tightening until a muscle in his face ticks and Spot raises one hand to hold his chin lightly.

“You’re upset.”

Race brushed a hand across Spot’s frowning mouth. “I’m having belated anxiety.”

A wry chuckle. “I’m perfectly alright, bubba.”

“You couldn’t take your shirt off.” He fixed Spot with a knowing stare. “You’re gonna be sore as hell tomorrow and I have a morning class, how are you going to get a shirt on by yourself? What will you do? What if you have internal bleeding, what happens then?”

“Race.” Spot said calmly, grabbing his shoulders. “I’ll be able to put my shirt on tomorrow. I’ll just grunt and push my way through it. And I don’t have internal bleeding.”

“What if you have a concussion?”

“Then I’ll go to the hospital.”

“But what if—“

Spot grabbed his chin and pulled him into a kiss, snaking his arms around Race’s neck and holding him close. Even with his split lip and bruised jaw, Spot kissed him firmly, running his tongue along Race’s lower lip and hiking his knees up until they rested on Race’s hipbones. His feet locked in Race’s lower back, and Race held his face gently.

Spot leaned back and kissed the tip of his nose. “Stop worrying.” He demanded. And then, “Can you make me pasta?” 

Race snorted. “Yes, I can make you pasta.”

Spot grinned.

—

It was thirty-two minutes before he was sitting at the island across from Race, eating buttered noodles out of the pan and wincing when his jaw ticked.

Race reached over and poked one of the bruises on his face, and Spot hissed. “Bitch.” He huffed, shaking his head.

“You’re fine.” Race giggled, leaning back in his chair.

“Glad to see you’re not worried anymore.” Spot mumbled, chuckling.

“I’m still worried, you ass.” He huffed. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Spot frowned and looked down into the pan. “I’m sorry.”

Race’s brows rose. “There’s something I never thought I’d hear.”

“Shut up, will you?” He laughed. “I’m serious, though. I feel bad for making you worry, and I’m... sorry.”

Race’s eyes were wide, amused. “You are such a mush right now, Conlon.”

Spot rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Whatever.” But he looked up to Race’s face, smiling kindly, and felt his chest warm. “Oh, God,” he said suddenly, his face scrunching up. He smacked his lips as if there was a bad taste in his mouth and said, “I’m having feelings. Race, say something stupid so I remember why you annoy me.”

But Race just let out a loud, prolonged “Aww.” and moved towards Spot with open arms, smiling cheekily.

Spot held his fork up in front of him like a weapon. “There it is.” He said.

Race knocked the fork out of his hands and planted himself on Spot’s lap, cupping his face gently. Spot slid his arms around Race’s torso, kissing his neck.

“If you’re trying to convince me you don’t have feelings, Spottie, it’s a bit too late for that.”

Spot rolled his eyes and pulled Race in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> awwwww  
spot is a pasta slut  
anyway  
hope you enjoyed i love you!!  
<333


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